


Whiskey Release

by deadeyebride



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Chapter 2: Horseshoe Overlook (Red Dead Redemption 2), Drunk Blow Jobs, Drunk Dancing, Drunk Sex, Enemies, F/M, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, Morning After, Oral Sex, Regret, Top Dutch van der Linde
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26355922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadeyebride/pseuds/deadeyebride
Summary: In which the influence of whiskey transforms enemies to lovers, at least for one night.Or, Dutch has whiskey dick and Ailis loves to hate him.
Relationships: Dutch van der Linde/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	Whiskey Release

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a roleplay, so I have to credit my friend Haley for the Dutch dialogue in the first half of the fic. ♡

The celebration had started just after noon but had gone on into the night, everyone in camp dancing as if they had forgotten how to stand still, drinking heartily with no thought of the impending hangover, or laughing until their cheeks became sore — perhaps all three at once. A Van der Linde party was unlike any other; they celebrated a raid on an O'Driscoll hideout, as well as saving the life of Bill Williamson from bounty hunters - truthfully it was the former more than the latter. Uncle was paralytic next to a crate of whiskey, Sean was passed out underneath a tree, and Mary-Beth had retired without so much as tasting a drop of alcohol - not counting the beer on Arthur's breath, of course.

Dutch was drunk, more so than he had been in years. So much so, that he had managed to dance with nearly every woman in camp before settling into a chair outside of his tent, nursing a whiskey. He couldn't see straight, though he did watch as Ailis - all five of her - curtsied after a dance with Lenny Summers. The young man had drunk more than his capacity, stumbling toward the tent he shared with the other men. Ailis turned around, a grin on her face as she stumbled past Dutch - her hand met his shoulder, patting him firmly. He raised a thick brow as he looked up at the  _ former _ O'Driscoll woman; Dutch hated her with every fibre of his being, though the whiskey had softened him some. The look in his eye was less hateful, more that of light annoyance.

"You have nice music, Dutch!" Ailis spoke, raising her voice to be heard over the nearby gramophone, her words slightly slurred from a night of drinking. A chuckle emanated from his lips; his shoulders moving with the noise. As strange as the compliment was to the leader, especially from her, he would accept it.

"Why, thank you Ailis." He told her sincerely. Perhaps it was the whiskey, or the moonshine he had stolen from Swanson's stash, that had lowered Dutch's inhibitions so greatly enough to ask; "Would you like to enjoy it better by dancing?" With a charming smile, he extended a hand to his once sworn enemy. 

Ailis looked down at Dutch, her hand still resting on his shoulder as she blinked; she was confused, initially unable to comprehend the question - as if he was speaking another language. A grin slowly grew on her reddened face as she took his hand; she was so drunk that she would have danced with Uncle if propositioned.

"Of course, Dutch!" She laughed as he rose from his chair, unsteady on his feet; he towered over her, even with his intoxicated carriage causing him to slouch. His head felt heavy as he guided her from the tent, into the open space where Ailis had previously danced with Lenny, and before him Sean, Arthur, and - somehow - Tilly Jackson. 

"I love dancing," Ailis admitted, a giggle following her words as they began their dance; it was clumsy, and Dutch's hand wasn't quite in the right place as he led the sway. He looked down at the woman; he couldn't stand the joy in her eyes, nor the way her lipstick was slightly smudged from a not-so-subtle 'stolen kiss' from Lenny. Yet he smiled, laughing at himself as he tripped over his feet; his skill with dancing had disappeared, along with his ability to think about anything other than hearing the lady stumble over words, unable to create a coherent sentence. 

"Yooou're good at this!" She slurred, causing Dutch to laugh straight from his gut. She wasn't offended by his outburst, instead she laughed along with him, even as his grip on her hand tightened substantially as he rather poorly twirled Ailis - it was more of a clumsy gyrate that almost made her trip over her own feet.

"And  _ yooou're _ not!" He all but bellowed at her, showing little shame in taunting her as he stumbled backwards. Her vision was a riot of every colour as he pulled her close, and she stumbled into his chest, her hand gripping his shoulder as if her life depended on it.

"Oh, you bastard!" She cackled. Not that she would admit it, but Ailis was having the time of her life with the man she spent years hating, allowing him to pull her any which way he desired - even as she almost fell into the dirt on multiple occasions. Dutch was certain that his hand would bruise up something fierce within her grip, though the alcohol numbed him as he laughed along with her.

"You, my lady, are..." He began, pulling her close - their faces mere inches apart. Her glee wouldn't be hidden underneath her expressive green eyes, and while Dutch admired the way the true music seemed to rest behind the soft cushion of her painted, upturned lips, he continued. "Despicable." He laughed, and Ailis all but howled along with Dutch. She hated every inch of the man, especially the way he was by far one of the more attractive men she had ever met - they couldn't help the inebriated fun they were having. He lost his balance a bit, at exactly the same moment Ailis' ankle had buckled in her heeled boots - he was unable to regain his footing as she grabbed his hand, causing Dutch to topple over on top of Ailis.

A scream broke free from Ailis' lips as her back hit the dirt, her head barely cushioned by Dutch's hand as he landed atop of her. Her bosom felt crushed against his broad chest, though the whiskey in her system replaced any pain with amusement. Laughter equally as loud as her scream followed as Dutch raised his head; dirt stained his forehead and a snicker escaped his rough lips. 

"You're… You're a  _ mess _ !" She exclaimed, her hands meeting his shoulders as she pushed him off of her, the older man rolling to the side and onto his back with a hearty laugh.

"Not as much of a mess as you, my dear!" He bellowed in his drunken stupor, caring not of those who he may disturb. He pushed himself into a sitting position, his palms dressed into the dirt. 

"You're terrible!" Ailis claimed in a fit of giggles, attempting to pick herself up from the dirt. Dutch was barely on his feet when his laughter turned into guffaws, his face beet-red as he witnessed Ailis lose her footing and fall back down, landing directly on her rear with a surprised yelp. Another burst of laughter broke free as she looked up at the man, her legs spread out in front of her. 

"Perhaps I am a mess after all!" She announced, and he offered her a shaking hand - ever the gentleman, even when laughing until his lungs were sore - in order to help her to her feet. 

"My lady," He taunted, pulling the younger woman close to him under the pretense of finishing their dance. It had become a frisk as she pressed her body a little too close to his, all but throwing herself at him as his hands roamed free. 

"Thank you, good sir," She laughed, her hand patting his cheek, not quite as gently as she intended before it rested on his chest. He whirled her, despite every prior warning, though this time he successfully managed to pull her close to him without giving the dirt a tender kiss once more. Ailis gently bit her lip, snickering as her eyes met his. "You… If my Pa was here, he would kill you!" She informed him, her shoulders shaking with laughter. 

"Well," Dutch began, chuckling at her comment. "It's a good thing I already killed him!" He roared with laughter, with Ailis joining in as if it were the funniest joke either of them had ever heard in the entirety of their lives. 

"You are my favourite enemy," Ailis informed him through a fit of laughter. "You ass!" She added, tripping over her own feet as she desperately tried to continue their dance. Dutch's coarse hand cupped her cheek, his still dirt stained forehead almost colliding with her own.

"And you…" He whispered, though it was if he had learned to do so on a speeding train. "Are by far the prettiest enemy I've ever had." He snorted as he nearly busted his gut from laughter, before spinning her around and attempting to dip her. In his blitzed stupor, instead of catching Ailis he missed her, allowing her to fall onto the dirt - landing once again upon her derrière with a less than ladylike 'oof!' that sent the odd pair into another fit of side-splitting laughter.

"You're real tall from down here!" She wheezed, unable to compose herself as Dutch leaned against a barrel, laughing with the joy of a young boy at the circus. She gripped his arm with one hand and the barrel with the other, pulling herself to her feet with a struggle as Dutch wiped a tear from his eye. With their dance firmly over, he bowed deeply, almost falling over again as Ailis curtsied in response.

"You are…" She hiccuped, moving past him to pick up another bottle of beer. "Full of horseshit, Dutch," She stated, seeing the look of mock offense on his face. "You don't think I'm pretty at all." She giggled, before using her teeth to pull the cork from the bottle, spitting it out of her mouth as Dutch rather dramatically placed his hand over his heart. 

"I am a lot of things," He stepped closer to her, studying her as she raised the best to her lips and took a long sip, drinking the substance with ease as if it were no more than water. "But I am not one to lie to a beautiful woman, even if you're an O'Driscoll whore." He added with a smirk, watching as Ailis narrowed her eyes. She wasn't beautiful in the classical way that Dutch preferred; she had no flowing golden curls or flawless skin, nor piercing eyes of blue that shone with innocence. Perhaps it was the booze, but something radiated from within Ailis that rendered her irresistible to Dutch - exclusively while under the influence.

" _ Former _ O'Driscoll whore, I'll have you know!" She affirmed, her finger rather pathetically jabbing against his chest. He took her hand in his own and Ailis felt his tender kiss upon her knuckles before it arrived, her chest emptying with a quivering breath. She was giddy from a mixture of booze and the vice of lechery; lust for the bastard before her. His voice had a cadence that she knew so well, his words soft as the smirk that already played on his lips. There was a hunger in his eyes; it was unlike Dutch to ache for an enemy with such ferocity, though he had an appetite he wished to sate.

An abrupt fit of giggles broke out between them. Seduction was what Dutch did best, moving into Ailis' personal space with just the right look of heat in his eyes. His hands rested on her hips, unabashed, as the kiss came with the smooth touch of their lips. His strong hands steered them toward the opening of his tent, though Ailis dug her heels in.

"This one is occupied," She stated, raising the bottle to her lips as Dutch's eyes rested on the sleeping figure of one Molly O'Shea. Setting the bottle down on a barrel, Ailis' gaze found John Marston's open, empty tent, creating a look of profound mischief across her features. Dutch, even blind drunk, managed to follow her gaze and spot the empty tent.  _ John needed to keep that closed _ , he mused before pulling Ailis across the small clearing, pushing her toward the cot roughly before sealing the flap. Ailis stumbled, barely steadying herself and avoiding falling across the cot.

Within seconds, Dutch had spun Ailis to face him; her head was spinning but she let out a giggle as Dutch’s lips found her neck, the chapped skin tickling her as the scent of cheap perfume filled Dutch’s nose. His rough hands pulled at her shirt, buttons coming undone with ease. Her corset bothered him, though Dutch felt lucky to have gazed upon cleavage that matched no other woman Dutch had laid with. If God was real, Dutch was certain that Ailis' breasts were his finest work of art. He reached for his knife. 

"Dutch…" Ailis whispered; for once she sounded concerned, though Dutch smiled and softly told her not to worry. Reaching around her, the blade in his hand left her view as the sharp edges worked under the ribbons of her corset, cutting the binds swiftly and she was relieved to see the weapon sheathed; her corset was thrown to the side and Dutch’s coarse hands moved over her breasts, the thin fabric of her low-cut chemilette not bothering him - her dark nipples stood prominently against the fabric, hard in the evening chill to which the tent held no immunity. 

"Lay down," Dutch ordered, gesturing nonchalantly to the bed. Ailis obeyed, pulling up her skirt and petticoats as Dutch clambered between her legs. He pulled down her drawers, the removal of the silky fabric revealing her pale thighs. He discarded the drawers alongside her corset; goosebumps spread across her skin as Dutch's lips met her skin, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses upward until they met the patch of hair between her thighs. His tongue trailed along her labia; he inhaled the scent of her arousal before his tongue dragged over her clit; Ailis' hips jolted slightly as she gasped. His coarse fingers pulled her chemilette down, exposing one of her magnificent, firm breasts to his touch as he toyed with her taut nipple. He pulled back as he felt her desire on his lips, a smirk upon his glistening mouth as his hands fumbled with his belt, pulling it out and tossing it aside. He finished freeing his cock from his trousers, standing at half-mast. Curious eyes met his own, before widening at the sight of Dutch's erection.

"Goddamn," He muttered, tugging at his cock; the alcohol was a burden and Ailis sat up, sensing his tension. Her softer fingers wrapped around his cock, licking her lips as she took over in stroking him. Dutch groaned almost inaudibly above her, his fingers weaving through her dark hair and pushing her head down. Soft lips, slick with saliva, wrapped about the tip of his cock - his current size made it easy to take him to the hilt and the bitter taste was something she had grown accustomed to already. Her cheeks hollowed as he muttered something, his hips lazily thrusting into her mouth as his cock hardened. His sex came to life at her touch, blood rushing down and drawing away any lingering inhibitions. 

"Fucking hell," He muttered, watching as Ailis pulled back, tracing her tongue along his shift and licking the mushroomed head of his cock as if it were candy. With little pressure needed, he guided his tool back into her mouth, watching as she took it so sweetly until the tip hit the entrance of her throat. Her emerald eyes met his fiery orbs, deep brown burning bright like honey in the dim light of the lamp. There was something desperate behind them; Dutch used her hair to push deeper, feeling her begin to gag something fierce as he entered her throat. It was pure bliss; the sensation coupled with the way her eyes glistened, Dutch was in paradise. If he were a lesser man, he may have blown his load right there and then - but he was  _ Dutch Van der Linde, and he had a plan.  _

"You're a good whore," He commented, slurring his words as he pulled out of her throat after a few moments of enjoying the sensation; the tingling in his balls threatening to end the night early. He grabbed Ailis by her throat, ignoring the squawk that escaped her as he pulled her upward; their faces close in a way that felt almost dangerous to her. His breathing was hot against her flushed cheeks, the smile on his lips as he forced her to make eye contact with him.

"You're my whore." He stated, firm in spite of being deeply intoxicated. "What are you, my dear?" He questioned, and Ailis gasped as he squeezed her throat.

"I-I'm your whore, Dutch!" She slurred, her hands wrapping around his. He loosened his grip, pushing her onto her back; it wasn't unusual for Ailis to end up in this position after heavy drinking, though she had never been with a man who had committed crimes so ferociously personal to her. Instinctively she spread her thighs, pulling her skirt until it was bunched around her hips. He held his cock, now fully erect, and guided it toward her sex - shameless, Dutch rubbed the head along her lips, thriving on the sweet noises she would make when he came into contact with her clit. Using his fingers to spread her, his cock pressed against her slick entrance and pushed forward, easing himself into her tight sex. His thrusts, while confident within his mind, were sloppy. His hard cock was stretching her; sending her wild beneath him.

While Ailis was overwhelmed by a burning fire of coveted desire, Dutch's motivation was self-gratification. One act of kindness was when his hand moved from her thigh, resting on her mound while his thumb teased her clit once more. The noises she made were greater than any piece of music he had heard; "Take me, Dutch."

Her voice was little more than a whisper; a breathless pant of longing and his hand moved along her torso, his palm resting on her collarbone as he picked up the pace. The softened grunts he made were music to her ears, and he wasn't gentle with her. He thrusts were rhythmic yet rough, the sound of flesh meeting flesh concealed by the music playing not far from the tent. Eyes glistening with lust stared up at Dutch, watching as his face scrunched up as he held himself back; drawing their sacred rendezvous out as long as he could handle. The whines and whimpers of the woman below him were enough to sate his ravenousness for now.

"Get ready," Dutch implored her to brace herself, as after a few drawn moments, he could no longer control himself. His hips snapped brutally against her own; the sound of their sex echoing throughout the small space. He was unsparing, his callus fingers digging into her shoulder and he grunted above her; his voice more of dangerous growl as he reminded her of what she was to him. "Whore," He cited, filling her aching body to the hilt before the sensation was too powerful to fight; he let out a long cry of unadulterated pleasure, spilling his seed into Ailis' waiting heat. 

"I'm  _ your _ whore," She purred, her body squeezing Dutch's cock as if to milk him. Even in his foggy mindset, he could appreciate the mess that he had made of the once infamous Ailis O'Driscoll. His thrusts had been reduced to smaller, weaker jolts as he emptied himself, the euphoria of release waning his remaining energy. His hands landed either side of Ailis' head, hands gripping the frame of the cot as he slowly pulled his hips back; his softening cock wet and still leaking somewhat slowly. He wasn't concerned with cleaning himself, instead he lowered himself and forced her to shift so that he may lay beside her. It dawned upon her that she wouldn't be reaching her own sweet release tonight, at least not by his hand.

"Finally, something we can agree on." He mumbled. Dutch wasn't one to cuddle after sex, though in the limited space they shared it was impossible not to rest himself against her as his eyes drooped. Within seconds, the older man was asleep beside her and Ailis huffed, her hand travelling south until her fingers rested between her thighs. There was so much tension within her aching body that needed to be expelled and a gasp left her soft lips as her fingers trailed along her tender labia; her hole oozed with Dutch's load and Ailis brought her fingers to her lips, her tongue delicately tasting his seed. Satisfied, her fingers returned to her labia and she parted her folds, her middle finger finding her clit. Another whine escaped from her as she worked herself, her hips grinding against her hand in her desperate effort to orgasm.

Lust's tight grip on her thoughts makes her pant, narrow fingers dancing a dangerous routine on her sweet, sensitive clit; the thrill of her release chased her, her senses manic as she whimpers at the thought of Dutch's fingers pumping into her, her muscles taut as a cry of sheer hedonistic glee echoed around the tent. Her hips pressed into the cot violently as her back arched, her climax lighting every fibre of her being afire before she collapsed, weak as she found herself trembling against Dutch's chest. Perhaps Dutch hadn't left her so far from glory as she thought; within seconds her eyes were drooping. 

"Just for a moment," She whimpered. She had no intention of cuddling her enemy all night, though the yawn that emanated from her lips told her otherwise. Mere seconds after she gave into her exhaustion; she was asleep. 

Dutch opened his eyes to the dimly lit tent; it was daytime by now, as told by the light seeping through the gaps in the tent's door. He squints, attempting to decipher which tent he was in; his mouth dry, sticky with thick saliva and moans before covering her eyes with his hand. The dull ache of his hangover was unbearable and he wondered why he had decided to go so overboard to begin with and, in his arms, Molly shifted. He peered down at her; her dark brunette hair splayed over her face and her red lipstick smudged. Just one look and he could tell that she was feeling just as awful as him. His eyes closed again, a grunt leaving his dry lips.

_That wasn't Molly_. 

His eyes shot open and he looked down at the woman in his arms. Ailis. Ailis O'Driscoll. His heart pounded in his chest and the bubbling anger protected him from the regret;  _ how the hell did this happen _ ? His hand latched onto Ailis' shoulder, shaking her awake until her eyes shot open, her emerald orbs full of fear and pain as they adjusted to the light. She had bolted upright faster than Dutch could comprehend in his hungover state, her hands cradling her head as the dizziness hit her like a runaway carriage. It gave him a moment to think, or at least try to do so; sense didn't come easy to him as he pushed himself up slowly; with a glance to his lap, he realised his cock was out. The state of himself and Ailis - including the discarded clothing - made it abundantly clear that he had seduced his enemy; or she had seduced him. Dutch hoped for the latter. 

"Why am I here?" She questioned, slowly rising to her feet. The question was aimed toward herself; how could she have fallen for Dutch's tricks? Her skirt had creased up something fierce after a night bunched at her hips. Her lack of drawers made it clear that they had fooled around, though truthfully she didn't want to believe she had stooped so low. Her Pa was surely rolling in his grave, and the temptation to bury Dutch somewhere no one would find him was prevalent as the memories slowly returned to her. Shame, anger, guilt and regret bubbled in her skull, applying pressure with every passing, pulsating second. Picking up her crumpled drawers, she struggled to get them back on over her boots; patience wasn't a virtue she currently possessed, she simply wanted to escape this situation as soon as possible.

Every time Ailis opened her mouth, Dutch found himself swallowing down his anger. His knuckles had whitened from clenching the cot's frame in his fists, and his teeth ground together in an effort to remain silent. Her whining was excessive and the last thing that he needed with a hangover as terrible as his; red-faced with rage, he rose up, gripping her arm and spinning her to face him - her drawers were around her knees as he leaned forward, his breath hot on her face as he seethed, his other hand gripping her hair. 

"Stop talking," His voice was unusually sombre, though each word pierced her mind with clear intent. His shoulders were shaking and his fingertips were sure to leave bruises on her flesh. "Do not breathe a word of this to anyone,  _ especially Molly _ . Do you understand?" Even in their hungover state, they both knew it wasn't as much a question as a direct order.

"You expect me not to talk?" She scoffed, bringing a hand up to rub the sleep from her eyes. "It may have meant nothing, Dutch, but… You know the implications." She explained; his mind had yet to go to that place, and truthfully, he didn't care to linger on the thought. The enemy's niece, pregnant with his child? Dutch only hoped that no one saw them enter the tent so that he had plausible deniability - even if the very concept of ruining her life further made his cock twitch.

"That isn't my problem, Ailis." He was blunt - his words cutting her like a machete. "Now, get out. If I hear another word of this, I'll take you back to Colm myself." He snapped, pushing her toward the door of the tent. She quickly picked up her things, leaving the tent without looking back at Dutch. Perhaps if she had, he may have seen the tears threatening to spill. Her legs carried her to the opposite end of the camp, as far from Dutch as she could safely wander.

The flash of light from the opening door worsened his headache as he straightened himself out, using John's mirror to make his hair more presentable. When he left the tent it was a relief to see that it was quiet; people had yet to wake, and those who were up, were too busy to see him leave the tent. Quickly crossing the clearing, he slipped into his tent - Molly was asleep. He sighed an understated breath of relief, setting himself down on his stool.


End file.
